the secret life of: crash

Sunday, November 21, 2010

crash

i like the crash and burn

the comedown

weed & bulimia go hand in hand

i hate myself

pleaase tell me none of this is real

let me overdose on your magic and laugh before i can laugh no more

sing me to sleep

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In the pursuit of beauty.

I am afraid.

"and since that day, everything changed. She was no longer that quiet, innocent youth who did everything they told her to and believed the lies they whispered in her naiive ears. No longer would she follow the long, straight path to a long, productive, desirable lifestyle. She didn't want to have a house and kids, grow old and be unable to control her own destiny. No. That was not the life for her.
She always knew that there were ways to escape, but society told her no. So she took drugs, had sex, partied and dieted. She took risks and opportunities, she got lost along the way. She did not go around the things that bothered her, but rather chose to carve her own path through them.
None would stand in her way.
She loved recklessly, disturbed in her mind, knowing that it was all so superficial. She drank until she vomited, she smoked until she passed out, she ate drugs like they were lollies and spent time in candyland. She secretly preferred the world in her head to the world she faced every day when she was sober.
She was real. She was paranoid, suspicious of everyone and everything. She was skilled in secrecy and would never betray a friend. She was stronger in her mind than the rest; she thought for herself, she refused to be brainwashed. She considered herself to be a well-educated young lady.
She was ever so compassionate towards those who were less fortunate than herself, animals in particular. She wanted to save them all, but she couldn't even save herself.
The world in her head was so tempting, how could she wait for the weekends to indulge? She learned a way to escape, every day running away to that safe place in her head. She was determined to find her own way and not be brainwashed like everyone else. She trusted NO ONE, not even her own mother. She told no one of the voices in her head; she kept her anger silent; she did not indulge in tears; she was powerful, but so out of control.
Her secrets were her own; she lived in a way which she could gain some small amount of satisfaction from. A small rebellion, spray paint your name on a building, smash bottles, destroy security cameras, break and enter, keep the police scum busy. She was ever so cautious and never got caught.
She lived her life in a way which suited her, and refused the words of caution that those around her offered.
That girl changed one day, for better or worse, and she was never, ever the same again."

If you reach out for me, will I pull you under? Will you become what you despise?